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Sir William was right. Dominic’s demand for repayment wouldn’t hold up in court; it had been a gentleman’s agreement.

Sir William was no gentleman.

From the corner of his eye, Dominic saw Torie curtsy, her mouth still pressed in a tight line. He bowed. “Good day, Sir William.” He turned and bowed again. “Good day, Torie.”

What neither of them understood was that when Dominic made up his mind . . . he made up his mind. The twins were his.

And Torie was his, even if he had to pay out another ten thousand pounds.

He wasn’t certain where his conviction came from. Likely it was because she’d been so kind to the children. When he visited this morning, rather than writing about severed limbs, they were both painting misshapen rabbits.

Perhaps because she never bothered to flatter or agree with him. Leonora had agreed with any opinion he aired, which seemed peaceful at the time, but now . . .

Boring.

He had been introduced to Leonora; they had conversed; they had understood without words that they would marry. He couldn’t even remember whether he actually proposed to her. Once he paid her father, the deed was done.

Now the exhilaration of a hunt sparked in his chest.

Torie didn’t escort him from the study, so the last glimpse he had was of her mutinous scowl.

He found himself smiling as he let himself out the front door. There was no sign of the hungover butler, who was probably lying down with a wet cloth on his forehead.

Once home again, he bounded up the stairs. The twins were still painting. Valentine’s rabbit had a grotesquely enlarged eye but was recognizable. Florence’s was not.

“Did you see Torie?” his niece asked, whirling to face him. She had flecks of paint in her curls and a splash of pink on her chin.

“Yes. She won’t be coming to visit today.”

“You’re smiling,” Valentine observed in a surprised tone.

“Miss Sutton married another man this morning.”

When the twins smiled back, Dominic discovered that Valentine had inherited the dimples he loathed. Or rather, the dimples his father had despised and mocked him for.

On Val, they were endearing.

“Now you’re free to marry Torie!” Florence cried, clapping.

“I asked, but she turned me down,” Dominic said.

Valentine frowned. “I thought that might happen.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow. “You did?”

“She’d have to balance being our mother against becoming a viscountess,” Valentine explained. “We never managed to enchant our own parents, let alone a fairly new acquaintance.”

Florence came over and stood beside her brother. “I don’t agree. If Torie won’t marry you, it’s not because she doesn’t care for us, because she does. More than she cares for anyone. Her father isn’t nice to her at all.” Her chin jutted out, surprising Dominic with its resemblance to Torie’s. “You’ll have to try harder.”

The twins fixed him with their pale green eyes. “Put your best foot forward,” Valentine advised. “Flowers and such. It’s a pity that codpieces are no longer in fashion.”

Even given that the twins regularly surprised him, this comment was startling. “Add codpieces to the Prohibited List and never mention such articles of clothing before your sister,” Dominic ordered.

“I already know what a codpiece is,” Florence reported. “I do not think that an adornment of that nature would win Torie’s approval. You have to be nicer.”

She put her hands on her narrow hips and fixed Dominic with a look verging on a glare. “You are not nice enough. I’ve seen you look at Torie in a haughty way, and doubtless she has noticed too. You look as if you’re scowling even when you are just waiting for a cup of tea. You were rude when we discussed Odysseus.”

“I could write you some poetry or a love letter,” Valentine offered. “Torie gave me a rhyming dictionary.”